The Harryhausen
by PlayerPiano
Summary: Maudeline, freshly married, has a dreadful secret that she's desperate to keep quiet.


**Author's Note:** I quickly realized this story would not work as a chapter of "A Wild Night and A New Road." So it's a one-shot all on its own. I hope I've balanced the purposely vague with the explanations. You might want to read the latest chapter of the aforementioned fic for some background, but I've tried to make this work on its own. I also tried to incorporate "Carolers" here, too. Anyway, this was a fun challenge, and I hope I've succeeded in keeping Maudeline and Finis true to their older selves while still exploring some things, and the basis for their future relationship. Any and all comments welcome, as ever!

**The Harryhausen**

Maudeline, Lady Everglot, spent most of her wedding night fretting about how to pretend she'd never done it before.

The bridal chamber, a seldom-occupied guest suite in the Everglot mansion's east wing, was not particularly cheery. It was very late fall, nearly early winter, so there weren't any flowers. Instead, Maudeline's new mother-in-law had had a single string of greenery put up across the footboard of the enormous canopy bed. That was all. A low fire burned in the fireplace. The only other light in the room came from the oil lamp on the nightstand.

Maudeline lay there in her bridal bed, chilled nearly to freezing. Her new nightgown, while fetching, was entirely too light for this time of year. As her aunt Gertrude had rather snippily reminded her, the attire had been for a _spring _wedding, after all. If she was cold, it was Maudeline's own fault.

A wave of nausea overtook her. Whether from nerves or her condition, she didn't know. Maudeline gripped the bedclothes tightly in her fists and breathed through clenched teeth until it passed. She resisted the impulse to touch her abdomen.

_Nothing is there yet,_ she reminded herself. _You're Lady Everglot now. Nothing about Maudeline Elvstead exists anymore. Including..._

Maudeline couldn't even bring herself to think it.

This waiting. It was driving her mad. What on earth was Finis doing? Even with the aid of Hildegarde, her maid, and Lavinia, her new sister-in-law, it had taken Maudeline the better part of two hours to extricate herself from her wedding finery and get into her light lace-edged linen nightdress. Now she waited, tucked in, hair unbound and mostly undressed, for a husband who had probably forgotten she was there.

Maudeline sat up and fluffed up the pillows so that she could recline against them. Fussily she arranged her long dark hair so that it fell across her shoulders just so. Down went the coverlet just enough to show the slightest hint of the bosom that strained against the linen of her nightgown. She folded her hands so that her new wedding ring was shown off.

Thus arranged in the half-light, Maudeline settled back. And immediately felt like an enormous fool. Who did she think she was, the Queen of the Nile? Certainly she was no blushing maiden...Maudeline stopped that thought before she could feel sick again.

Just when Maudeline was ready to give up and go to sleep, the bedroom door creaked open. Her new husband, squat and toad-like and wearing what she could already tell was a permanent frown, stepped into the room. He was already in his dressing gown and nightshirt. For a long moment they stared at each other. Then, without a word, Finis made his way over to the bed, removed his dressing gown, and put out the lamp.

"Where on earth have you been?" Maudeline demanded, aware only after she'd spoken that those words were probably not the best for a bride to use when greeting her groom on their wedding night. Oh well. Finis was intolerably late, she'd every right to be annoyed.

Finis did not reply. In the light thrown by the dying fire she could see his shadowy form climb up the little set of stairs beside the tall bed. The mattress moved as he climbed in beside her.

This was it.

For all her indiscretions, Maudeline had never actually been in bed with a man before. Especially not a man in only a nightshirt. Despite herself she was nervous. What was she to do? Simply lay there? Admit to female fears? Feign disgust and horror? Feign enjoyment?

She had no idea. So she lay back and waited. For a touch, for a word. For _something_.

Finally, Finis's curt voice broke into the darkness. "Goodnight," he said, and promptly rolled over.

Aghast, Maudeline turned to stare at his egg-like shape under the covers. All of that work primping for nothing. "That's _all_?" she asked, unable to help herself.

"I'm exhausted," Finis grumbled. "It's been a long day. Goodnight."

For a long time Maudeline looked at Finis there beside her. She watched his side rise and fall with his deepening and evening breath. He was asleep. She couldn't believe this.

More than anything, Maudeline didn't want to raise suspicion. Nor did she really want to raise any desire, either. She couldn't very well shake Finis awake and demand that the union be consummated right this very instant. She couldn't very well explain that her reputation, Finis's reputation, and the reputation of the Everglots hinged upon it. The very future of the Everglots depended on it.

Finis slept on, unaware. Maudeline was awake until the fire burned to embers, wondering what to do next.

0—0

It took a week. An agonizing, nail-biting, infuriating week, but the deed was finally done and Maudeline could at last relax and plan her next move.

At her desk the very morning afterward she pulled out her little engagement book and made a discreet mark on the date exactly five weeks hence. Perhaps a bit soon to be _entirely _credible, but she was sure everyone would be too thrilled at the thought of an heir to pay much attention.

_You'd best hope arithmetic isn't Lord Everglot's strong suit_. Those remembered words hit her like a slap in the face.

Maudeline took a deep breath and calmed herself. Everything was going according to plan. She had no cause to worry. The deed had been done, Finis none the wiser. Afterward she'd imagined that he'd looked at her a trifle strangely, with suspicion, but he'd said nothing. So Maudeline had dismissed it.

Much to Maudeline's surprise, it hadn't been terrible. As she considered she tapped her pen on the blotter and looked at the wilted remains of her bridal bouquet in the vase upon her desk. Lilies, she'd carried. Funeral flowers.

No, it hadn't been terrible. Not that it had been _good_, of course. Nor exciting. Nothing like what she'd known before. Which was perfect, actually. Excitement and passion had landed her nothing but trouble and regret. With Finis, it had been...oh...almost like a handshake. Less than a handshake. A task which had to be done, which as partners they would complete without any fuss and then go about their lives.

Maudeline didn't know if Finis felt the same. Nor did she really care.

She looked again at her engagement book, to the date she'd marked. Christmas Eve. How perfect. What a gift. An heir for Finis, security for herself, a good reputation for them all.

Maudeline set aside her book and went to work on her post-wedding correspondence. Already she had become used to, and thoroughly enjoyed, signing herself as Lady Everglot.

0—0

On the day before Christmas Maudeline managed to escape luncheon planning with her mother-in-law long enough to find Finis fiddling about in his study. He sat at the imposing desk in the leather chair which dwarfed him more than usual. He had a ledger open before him, and he scribbled away at it with a quill pen. Maudeline, refusing to feel like an employee or a supplicant, bypassed the wooden guest chairs before the desk. Instead she stood behind his chair, where there was barely enough room for her enormous hoop skirts. Maudeline stood silently over him, arms folded, until he grunted with impatience.

"You could knock, you know," he told her gruffly, tossing his quill down. He turned and blinked up at her. "What is it?"

"I'm in a certain condition," she said, no beating about the bush. She'd deliberately chosen the most aristocratic euphemism she could think up.

Finis looked blank. "I'm _expecting_," Maudeline elaborated, dropping her voice to a hissing whisper. This was humiliating. "Expecting. An heir."

Finis's eyes widened. Briefly his gaze dropped to her middle, where there was nothing to see. Too early, of course. And besides, she'd been hoisting her hoops higher just as a precaution. It wouldn't do for anyone to notice that she might possibly be showing a bit more than she should be for only being five weeks along.

"Well," he said. Not gruff, for once. There was a very nearly teetering upon friendly expression in his eyes when they met hers again.

Under that look Maudeline quickly grew uneasy, but she did her best to frown and not show it. Finis was looking at her as he had that recent strange afternoon. When they'd talked easily, nearly chummily, about how they hated Christmas. That night had been stranger still. Decidedly _not _like a handshake or a chore.

Maudeline shook off the memory. One of the goals of being married, for Maudeline, had been to eradicate feelings such as those. Not to create uncomfortable new ones.

"Does Mother know?" Finis asked, breaking the tense silence. His tone was businesslike now.

"No," Maudeline replied in kind. "I thought we'd announce officially. As is customary. Tomorrow at luncheon, perhaps?"

"Fine."

That was all they said on the matter. For the rest of the day and well into Christmas Maudeline avoided Finis, such that they didn't actually speak to one another until their announcement of an heir at the luncheon. Maudeline didn't like to admit it, but she was afraid of what might have been said.

0-0

"It's to say congratulations," said Lavinia, leading Maudeline down the grand staircase. "Congratulations on the baby. I'm pleased for you. I truly am."

"You needn't have gone to the trouble," Maudeline replied irritably. As she'd tried to explain to her pale and tiresome sister-in-law, Maudeline did not feel at all well and wanted to stay in her room, thank you all the same. But she'd swiftly learned that one of the rules of the Everglot house was to keep Lavinia—poor, melancholy, slightly touched Lavinia—appeased.

Sometimes Maudeline wanted to do something to set her off, just to see what would happen.

Now, though, she allowed herself to be led down the staircase into the entry hall. Maudeline stopped at the foot of the stairs and grabbed at the bannister for support. She felt all the blood drain from her face and down into her feet as she stared at what was waiting for her in the entry.

A piano. Not just any piano.

"Your piano!" breathed Lavinia, as Maudeline stood there gaping. "I assumed you must miss it terribly, you're so gifted a musician. Now you can play all you like. Finis and Mother agree."

Maudeline thought she might be sick. "How did you-" she began, but stopped herself. Everyone in the village knew she played piano. That she'd gone to the conservatory. Or that her former self had, at any rate. She could only hope that with time the memory would fade. Maudeline certainly wanted to forget. She'd die a happy woman never hearing a piano ever again.

Not that she could tell Lavinia why. Not that she even wanted to think about why.

Lavinia led her to the piano bench. The pair of them stood there, Maudeline staunchly refusing to sit down. More than anything she wanted to be back in bed. She felt lightheaded and strange. Something deep in her belly started to throb, a dull knife twisting. Maudeline hadn't ever wanted to see Mother's Harryhausen again. Now here it was, invading her new home, her new life.

Maudeline's mother had taught her to play on this piano. All through her childhood, even after Mother died, all through her young adulthood, she'd sat upon this very bench every single day without fail. When she'd come home from the conservatory it was waiting for her at Uncle Alfred's house. And then, most recently, week after week of passionate duets with her tutor. Which had led her to this mess. If it hadn't been for the music, none of this would have happened. She wouldn't have to be terrified of scandal every waking moment, she wouldn't have to lie.

Without thinking she gripped Lavinia's small childish hand more tightly. Lavinia gripped back, perhaps believing the gesture to be affectionate.

"You look a little peaked," Lavinia remarked, looking up at Maudeline. Next to her, Maudeline always felt like some kind of gargoyle, or a giantess. "Here, do sit down."

Maudeline remained where she was. Her underarms were growing warm. That dull throb was less dull now. Her insides felt as if they were filled with embers.

"Come, perhaps you'd like to play something," Lavinia urged, sweet and unassuming. Maudeline wanted to slap her. She very nearly did so when Lavina took the offensive liberty of laying a hand on her waist. "I've read that music is supposed to be good for carrying ladies."

Mostly to escape her sister-in-law's touch, Maudeline sat. It was good to sit, her head was swimming. There was no sheet music. As she flexed her fingers, curling them into fists over and over, she tried to think of what she had memorized. It had been so long.

"Go on," said Lavinia, slipping onto the bench beside her and smiling a slightly mad smile. "Play."

Maudeline set her fingers on the ivories and swallowed hard. She was warmer than ever, more uncomfortable now that she was sitting. Maudeline blinked. When she opened her eyes she saw the keys through a long, dark tunnel. Then everything went dark.

0—0

"Maudeline? Are you awake?"

When Maudeline was at last able to force her eyes open, she saw her sister-in-law's face hovering above her. After a moment she came to herself again. She was in bed, wearing her warm flannel nightgown. Weakly she raised a hand to her brow and found it damp with sweat.

"What on earth is going on?" Maudeline asked, doing her best to not sound frightened. Had she fallen into some sort of delirium at the piano? Sitting at the Harryhausen was the last thing she remembered clearly. Other bits and pieces were coming back now, though, little by little. But they were gruesome, so she pushed them from her mind, dismissing them as fever dreams.

What might she have admitted in a delirium? The thought worried her more than the state of her health.

Lavinia, her round pretty face more melancholy than ever, sat on the edge of the bed. Gently she patted Maudeline's hands until Maudeline pulled away. "I'm sorry," said Lavinia. "You've...well...oh, I'm not sure how to say it. Mother said it's a 'miss.'"

"A 'miss'?" Maudeline repeated, fuzzy and groggy, uncomprehending. She was warm and chilled at the same time, her arms and legs like lead. As tired as if she'd been awake for days. Slowly she became aware of a strange hollow feeling, burning about the edges, in her middle. The same feeling crept between her legs.

"That's what Mother said," repeated Lavinia. She dropped her voice. "Oh, Maudeline. There's to be no baby."

The words took a moment to sink in. And then, relief. Pure relief flooded through every limb, every vein, every cell in her body.

"Oh," Maudeline breathed, catching herself at the very last moment before adding, _good_. She settled back against the pillows, staring past Lavinia, not quite believing her luck.

"After how happy we all were," Lavinia was saying, but Maudeline wasn't really listening. After all that. She was free. Now she needn't worry. Her problem had fixed itself. Now she could do her duty, truly this time, and provide an Everglot heir.

The bedroom door opened, and Finis peered in. Maudeline raised a hand and gestured him to approach. Lavinia was crying in earnest now.

"Excuse me," she said, getting up and moving toward the door, pushing past her brother. "I'm sorry. It's just so terribly sad..."

And she was gone, leaving a silence behind her. Finis closed the door.

"She's...delicate," he said, needlessly. Maudeline didn't bother to respond. She watched Finis approach, a strange look on his face. Strange in a way that immediately made her suspicious. He looked...calculating. Or appraising. Perhaps she was worrying now out of habit. The danger was over, after all. The two of them could move on.

For a long time Finis sat on the chair at her bedside and regarded her. Maudeline knew she must look a fright. And she felt worse. Physically, that was. In truth, she felt freer and more unburdened than she had in a long while. So she ignored his look and relaxed back into her pillows, and waited.

"Do you think I'm stupid?" Finis asked at last. Maudeline, her head throbbing, closed her eyes.

"Is this a trick?" she asked in return. When she opened her eyes she found her husband was not amused.

"Don't be that way," he said. His frown was deeper than usual. "I'm serious."

Now Maudeline was paying attention. He'd never spoken to her that way before. Maudeline didn't like it. "What is going on, Finis?" she asked. "You might at least have asked how I'm faring-"

"Don't pretend to be indignant," Finis interrupted. Shocked at his tone, Maudeline closed her mouth. "You're fine. Mother says so. She also-"

"Oh, well, if your _mother _says so," Maudeline grumbled, unable to help herself. There was not much love lost between Maudeline and her mother-in-law.

"She _also _says," Finis said loudly, not acknowledging that Maudeline had spoken, "That you lied."

For a moment Maudeline thought her heart had stopped. Sheer panic made her cold, made her mouth go dry. She was as nervous now as she had been on her wedding night. Willing her expression into an imperious blank, she searched Finis' face for clues. He, a true aristocrat, gave nothing away. He stared at her levelly, and when he spoke next in was in the same sort of tone he might use to discuss the weather. Measured, devoid of emotion.

"Mother says you've had a miss," he said. "And that you were much farther along than you claimed to have been. _Much_. And she thinks I should divorce you. That a divorce wouldn't be nearly as much of a scandal as remaining married to you. Scandals yet to come, I suppose. Mother doesn't trust you to carry on the name or the bloodline now. She doesn't think you can be trusted at all. I believe she feels you've taken us all for fools."

He paused. Maudeline pressed her lips together as tightly as she could. If she didn't she knew she'd lose control. A torrent of nonsense would fall out of her mouth about scandals and ruining his family name with a divorce and hers and that now there was no issue anyway and so what did it matter? She stayed quiet, waiting, taking deep breaths through her nose.

"I disagree," Finis said, and again Maudeline went weak with relief. Before she could fully enjoy it, however, she was brought up short by his next words: "And what's more, I already knew, even if she didn't."

Dumbstruck, Maudeline stared. She went ahead and dropped her facade, letting her amazement show. "How?" was all she could manage.

Finis tucked his thumbs into his lapels. His expression was stony. "Well, not _all_," he amended. "Enough. I guessed. After we...well. I'm not a fool, you know."

He seemed disinclined to elaborate, and Maudeline was disinclined to press. Apparently she hadn't pretended as well as she'd thought. Perhaps let a few too many things slip, despite all her efforts. And this was, it must be said, a very tiny, very _gossipy_ village. Maudeline was the one who'd been a fool, right along with her aunt and uncle and Hildegarde. To think they'd be able to cover up something like this so easily. It had been too good to be true.

Melancholy now, Maudeline twisted at the edge of the sheet. What a fool she'd been. Much to her own surprise, she found herself feeling guilty. Guilty of betrayal. It was the first time she'd had that feeling. Technically she'd been in engagement talks with Finis when she and Harold had played their duets. She'd lied. She'd conspired. She'd been willing to lie to Finis for the rest of her life. And only now did she feel any tiny twinge of guilt.

Not that she'd say it out loud. Finis didn't need to hear it, she was sure. Such a declaration would seem too much like a declaration of friendship or affection. She'd already married the man. There were limits. So Maudeline remained silent. At last, Finis spoke. His voice bore no trace of affection, which Maudeline very much appreciated. Rather, he spoke to her as if he was a general addressing a junior officer before a battle.

"You're one of us now," Finis told her. "I will not say one word, not ever. Everglots protect their own, and now that includes you. Our ancestry is yours, our reputation is yours, the family is yours."

Maudeline swallowed. She was alarmed to find herself touched. Deeply. Exactly what she'd wanted, handed to her on a silver platter embossed with the Everglot crest. She could have had it without the fuss and the lies and the conniving, it seemed. For a crazy moment, she went soft in the head.

"He was a rather rough, unpleasant drunk," Maudeline found herself saying. She looked up at the canopy. "I'm not entirely sorry he's dead."

"Never mind. I do not wish to know," Finis said."Forget all of it. It happened to someone else. Not to Lady Everglot. We'll never speak of any of this again."

With that, Finis got to his feet, and waddle-walked his way to the door. Without so much as a backward glance, he left, and closed the door with a snap behind him.

For a long time Maudeline lay there, staring at the canopy and letting her body throb painfully in several places at once. In turns she felt that she rather deserved it, and then that she'd only done what she'd needed to. For self-preservation. Maudeline shuddered to think what her life might have been like, disgraced and abandoned, or, God forbid, married to Professor Kronsky.

Now she was truly an Everglot. Maudeline Elvstead was well and truly dead, along with everything that had been connected to her. Except for Aunt and Uncle, of course. And her younger brother. But they were on her new side. Lady Everglot's side.

And except for that piano downstairs. Maudeline closed her eyes and screwed them up tight, her head throbbing again. When the moment passed, she considered. Perhaps having the Harryhausen about wasn't such a terrible thing. It could be as much penance as she was able to give, in a way. She'd never ever play it. Never again. Rather, she would keep it in the grand Everglot Hall, a constant reminder of her folly. A warning to never ever let passion worm its ugly way in ever again.

If she should ever have a daughter...

An iron fist. Strict discipline, a constant presence. A proper upbringing with two upright, unimpeachable parents. Propriety in all things.

No music.

Finally, Lady Everglot let herself relax into a much-needed sleep. Somehow, it felt like the sleep of the righteous and noble. When she woke, she could start her life all over again, new and better.

**The End**


End file.
